From Istanbul

By | 5 December 2019

I tell her I believe in god
nine hundred and seventy miles away from where we first met
I haven’t been this close to home in five years
There’s a child next to me
who will never say damascus is anything but inheritance
I am too lost in trying to find words
in a language I haven’t used in years
to eat food that is too familiar for me to taste

I am leaving again in three days
Putting distance between us
that I know fevered texts across an ocean will never fill
I am trying to explain why the divine still hasn’t died
That I can no more kill god than I can let her go
There is so much in theory I can speak of
Philosophies to extrapolate how divine doesn’t mean always good
but she knows as much as I do
This has never been about theology

It is about the sand that never really leaves our shoes
The struggle to say p instead of b
The smell of jasmine that follows us everywhere
This has always been about home
and I can’t stop believing in home
even if it means god always will exist in broken things

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